(no subject)
I've never been good at emotions. I can deal with stress, I can handle situations where shit hits the fans and someone is needed to clean up the mess in 10 minutes before the folks come home and smells the feces. I'm that girl. I'm not, however the girl that can deal with floods of emotions, not the girl who can tell you what she feels before hindsight distances her from them and puts them into perspective for her. I inherited that from my father. We both get angry easy and neither of us express our feelings in words. I wonder if he has a history of running from his feelings too?
Therapy was a bust: it ended with her telling me that unless I was willing to open up and go into what I was running from, not to come back--an interesting ultimatum to give someone who also has trust issues. So, instead, I'm buring everything deeper and falling more into my fantasies and dealing with things in my own way.
Since my grandmother died it was left to my mother to clean up her house, sort through things and cleaning it out, since my father has avoided the entire thing as much as possible and taking out his repressed emotions on everyone else. Like him, I have not really cried about her dying, like him, I haven't talked about it. Like him, I feel like I need to remain strong. When I went home I gave my mother the much needed push, I helped her clean out the house with the skills for detachment and practicality in not being a pack rat that she sorely needed. She and my sister were emotion through the experience while I was the voice of reason--which is funny when you think about it. I ended up taking a lot of craft stuff that my grandmother had and that my mom didn't need. Since I came back into the city I taught myself how to knit and do cross stitch. I baked bread and pies using her old recipes... I think this is my way of dealing with her death, I definately feel closer to her for doing it all. Its silly, and people don't understand it, but in a little way, by learning what she knew and carrying it on, a part of her will stay alive.
When anyone asks what I'm doing, I tell them that I'm learning to either be a 1800's bride or a 21st century spinster--whichever comes first.
Therapy was a bust: it ended with her telling me that unless I was willing to open up and go into what I was running from, not to come back--an interesting ultimatum to give someone who also has trust issues. So, instead, I'm buring everything deeper and falling more into my fantasies and dealing with things in my own way.
Since my grandmother died it was left to my mother to clean up her house, sort through things and cleaning it out, since my father has avoided the entire thing as much as possible and taking out his repressed emotions on everyone else. Like him, I have not really cried about her dying, like him, I haven't talked about it. Like him, I feel like I need to remain strong. When I went home I gave my mother the much needed push, I helped her clean out the house with the skills for detachment and practicality in not being a pack rat that she sorely needed. She and my sister were emotion through the experience while I was the voice of reason--which is funny when you think about it. I ended up taking a lot of craft stuff that my grandmother had and that my mom didn't need. Since I came back into the city I taught myself how to knit and do cross stitch. I baked bread and pies using her old recipes... I think this is my way of dealing with her death, I definately feel closer to her for doing it all. Its silly, and people don't understand it, but in a little way, by learning what she knew and carrying it on, a part of her will stay alive.
When anyone asks what I'm doing, I tell them that I'm learning to either be a 1800's bride or a 21st century spinster--whichever comes first.